


Left Behind

by doorwaytoparadise



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Douglas wasn't able to do something clever and everything is not fine, GERTI has crashed, Gen, I'm Sorry, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/pseuds/doorwaytoparadise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When GERTI crashes, only one of them survives. This is the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

At first, the entirety of the situation didn't register. But that was the work of the morphine.

At first it wasn't so enormous, being told with a head fuzzy from from drugs and still reeling from being alive, but after it sunk in, he wished he wasn't.

The only survivor. _The only survivor._  
That meant the rest of MJN was gone. All of them, gone.  
But-but, no. How? It just wasn't- it just didn't-  
No. Not Possible.

At first he was in denial.  
Then came the pain.  
The slamming weight of reality and the devastating sense of loss. It was almost too much, and he ended up collapsing on the spot, letting the solid impact of floor inform him that he wasn't in some twisted nightmare. This was real. It was real and it was destroying. It rent his heart and soul into shreds and threw them to the wind, uncaring of the damage it left in it's wake.

 

The pain was a terrible time. Terrible in what it did to him, but oh so good in how it made him feel. Because feeling pain, suffering, meant he was paying his due, at least in part, for surviving, for living while they did not.

In this time, _why God, why_ was a constant buzzing question, searing in the wake of being forever unanswered.

 

With the pain, came guilt, riding tall and overwhelming to see, on the back of a steed made of disaster and grief. The guilt of still walking the earth and a bold sense of wrongness. Because MJN was a family, not a business, and family is meant to stick together. He should've gone with them, or they should be here with him, or better yet, he should be gone and they should be here. God knows they were all better people than he could ever hope to become. His mental process had simplified into repeated variations of these thoughts.  
Survivor's guilt, they called it. He couldn't give a fuck regardless.

After the pain and guilt and _too much fucking feeling_ , was the numbness. Heavy and thick, it swallowed him in it's fog. Enticing and all too full of temptation, it coaxed him into it's arms, drowning him in nothingness and lethargy. He was worlds away, staring at the ceiling, letting the darkness creep over him like a spider's web.  
Sometimes the numbness spoke. It whispered sweet promises of flying again, of being with them again, but even in his frozen state, he knew better than to give in. Flying was for aeroplanes, not bodies, and he doubted they'd be pleased to see him so soon.

Some days, it was all too much. He would feel the almost irresistible pull of the bottle or a desire for relief at the end of a needle, or at the very least, a pack of cigarettes.  
Some days, he just wanted to put a bullet in his head, but those were by far the worst and rarest of days.

 

Time heals everything, they say. _Bullshit_ is his opinion on the matter. Time hasn't healed it, and he doubts it ever will, but he's better, at least. 

The pain has ebbed, and the guilt has lessened, and he continues as best as he can. Got a job, went on dates, did whatever took his fancy. A walk, a bite to eat, anything, really, but he didn't fly, he never flew. It would be too sharp a reminder of how much he had lost, and how much could go wrong.

And of course, there were always reminders. Little things that sent a pang through his heart, that made him yearn for the best thing he had once had. Yellow cars, otters, lemons, Toblerones....they made him wince.

He tried his best and carried on, a soldier back from war, and most days he succeeded. But at night, nearly every one, he would find himself jolting awake, tasting his tears as he screamed for them, their names stuck in his throat in one last desperate cry.


	2. Chapter 2

(This is set as a midquel. Probably right before the line “Time heals everything...”)

 

_Those you’ve known_   
_And lost, still walk behind you_   
_All alone_   
_They linger till they find you_

_Without them_   
_The world grows dark around you_   
_And nothing is the same_   
_until you know that they have found you._

 

He stared at the sky. Dark. Of course it was. Raining too. How fitting. Not heavy, but enough to leave the day damp and miserable. He wanted to scream...or break something. Maybe just curl up and cry, but the numbness wouldn't let him. That all-encompassing grip of nothingness. He blinked.

There was a part of him that embraced this feeling, but another that wanted to fight it. That wanted to shout and curse and actually shed tears for his friends. It was the least they deserved, right? To be mourned by the one they left behind.

But wasn't that just his luck? Always left behind, alone.

 

Martin turned his gaze away from the clouds. After all, they only reminded him of how he had once flown among them, and how hard he had fallen the very last time.

 

 

It had been so sudden. GERTI finally reached her limit. And there was nothing any of them could have done.

They had all been in the flight deck. When the first warning had gone off, Carolyn and Arthur had come up to join them, just to see what was happening. When that situation had clearly become fatal, and the plane was shaking, and _oh, god, we're going down fuck no no no_ , it was a blur. But that single heartbeat of time, right before it all went black, everything outside of them had frozen, and the rest of the world could burn for all they cared. He had felt Carolyn's hand gripping his shoulder, could sense Arthur directly behind him, and for a fraction of a second, he had met Douglas' eyes. And in that single glance, Martin could read the only meaning his life would ever truly have, and he remembered that gaze.

 

 

Martin pointedly slept very little. Closing his eyes was the issue really. Every time he did, he would see the shaking flight deck, the flashing lights, the ground getting closer at a frighteningly quick rate, or worse yet, Douglas' eyes in that last moment. His first officer's gaze was one that haunted him and he swore he could still feel it piercing his soul. It was maddening.

 

He had visited the graveyard. Not often, but enough to be familiar with exactly where to go. The first time he had gone, he had spent hours simply sitting and staring, not saying a word. That was one thing constant about his visits, he didn't talk. At first it was from denial. If he talked to their headstones, it really meant they were dea- gone. Then it was the pain. It hurt to talk. The numbness simply robbed him of the ability. Still he went.

And of course, this particular visit was no different. Just wet. The rain had only lessened, but such trivial matters such as being cold didn't bother Martin. And yet, today there seemed even more of a chill to the air.

He breathed in. He breathed out. Something felt different.

 

_Though you know_   
_You’ve left them far behind_   
_You walk on by yourself, and not with them_

_Still you know_   
_They will fill your heart and mind_   
_When they say there’s a way through this._

 

There was a breeze. There hadn't been one the entire walk here.

The breeze carried the faint scent of perfume, quiet nonsensical humming, and the feel of a uniform jacket brushing up against him.

He took a moment to acknowledge this. He took an hour to digest it. It took another to sink in.

He realized he was calm. The feeling came without a big bang or startling flash, simply settling into his skin and sinking to his core. Martin relaxed. They were far from gone. He hadn't been left behind, not completely.

But of course, he wasn't fixed. He wasn't fine, and the pain still followed his every step. They were there, but they haunted him.  
At least the numbness had receded. So for the first time in a very long time, he allowed himself to smile. Small, but with a world of meaning behind it.

 

_Now they’ll walk on my arm through the distant night_   
_And I won’t let them stray from my heart_   
_Through the wind, through the dark, through the winter light_   
_I will read all their dreams to the stars_

_I'll walk now with them_   
_I’ll call on their names_   
_I’ll see their thoughts are known._

 

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized sections are from the song Those You've Known from the musical Spring Awakening.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit old, but I just realized I had never posted it on my AO3. It's from a prompt on the meme, but I went back and edited it, so now its less choppy and all.


End file.
